


Five Times O'Neill Thought Carter was Beautiful (and one time he told her)

by northernexposure



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-01 08:04:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16761223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northernexposure/pseuds/northernexposure
Summary: Um, what the title says.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more." ( _Emma_ , Jane Austen)

“She is extremely beautiful, your Captain Carter.”

Jack’s in the middle of chewing a piece of the local bread as Kedesh says this. They’re sitting side by side in front of the campfire the villagers lit the moment the sun started to fade. Daniel and Teal’c are close by, also eating, but Jack has to follow their host’s gaze to find Carter. She’s sitting a ways away, on a log set in the ground on the other side of the fire. She’s surrounded by a little knot of villagers, and she’s busy drawing something in the dust with the aid of a whittled stick. Her audience seems entirely engrossed in whatever it is she’s trying to explain. As Jack watches she gesticulates with her free hand, then tips her head back and points to the sky, to the stars pricking the dark velvet firmament overhead, before passing the branch to a young man sitting beside her and indicating the dusty chalkboard at her feet. Constellations, he surmises. She wants to know their words for the groupings of stars they can see in their sky. Her face flickers in the firelight. The shadows dance across her nose and cheekbones, catching in the mussed strands of her blonde hair as she smiles and laughs along with her audience. 

As for Kedesh, Jack gives no reply. It was a statement, not a question, after all.

Kedesh, though, turns back to face Jack’s silence. “You do not agree?”

Jack sighs internally, swallowing the bread. “It’s not the first thing that comes to mind when I think of Carter,” he says, reaching for his water bottle.

“No?” says Kedesh. “Then you must have different standards by which you measure beauty on Earth. On Hemai, we celebrate beauty as a great gift from the ancestors. This is not so on your world?”

Jack grimaces, then glances over at the other two male members of SG-1. “Daniel?” he says. “You want to help me out, here?”

“Um, I think what Colonel O’Neill means to say is that by our custom, Captain Carter is not defined by her physical appearance,” Daniel begins, frowning a little. “You see, she is a very capable soldier, an extremely well-respected scientist. On our world, these are the achievements for which she is appreciated, more than for her physical appearance. She would still be as valuable to us for these things even if she were less, uh…” Daniel falters, and then shrugs, yielding to the inevitable, “…less beautiful than she undoubtedly is.”

“Would acknowledging her beauty preclude your appreciation of those achievements?” Kedesh asks, with apparently genuine interest.

“It shouldn’t,” Daniel tells him. “But in the past it has. In the case of Colonel O’Neill,” at this Jack glances up sharply, wondering what Daniel is about to say, “it is part of his orders that he must see Captain Carter solely as a soldier for whom he is responsible, nothing more… or less.”

“I see,” says Kedesh, turning back to Jack. “I apologise, Colonel O’Neill. I intended no offence with my question.”

“None taken,” Jack tells him, dropping the last crust of bread back on his plate. “I think it’s time we pitched camp. Teal’c, round Carter up, would you?”

Teal’c steps around the fire as Kedesh stands and gives a half-bow of his head. “I will get Jorcar to show you where best to pitch your tents.”

“Thanks.”

Teal’c reappears with Carter. She’s got a little smile on her face and is scrubbing a hand through her hair, eyes alight with something Jack can only categorise as life. 

“Made enough friends for one night, Captain?”

The smile turns into one of her best, utterly artless and a mile wide, and he feels it like a sucker punch right in his gut. He looks away and finds himself catching Daniel’s eye. The look the archaeologist gives him is speculative, a little too knowing. Jack counters it with one of complete impassivity, until Daniel turns away with what might have been - though Jack hopes to high heaven it wasn't – a very small nod.

[TBC]


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for one little instance of blasphemy. If that offends you, skip this one.

Stargate Command is never silent, but there are hours of the day when its ambiance settles to a latent buzz; when footsteps in the corridors drop to nothing but an occasional, distant susurration against concrete, when the only chatter is in the background whirr and mutter of the machines that make living and working this far underground possible. These tend to be the hours when folk with normal lives are fast asleep, the innocuous stresses of their days working their way out via dreams that cannot hope to encompass the realities of the universe. Jack O’Neill often wonders whether what the human race – at least the one largely confined to Earth – needs to settle their woes is a good old dose of perspective. He suspects that loving your neighbour for their petty transgressions might be a darn sight easier when set against the hostile bent of the guy two doors – or two stars – over. 

He likes the SGC at rest. It’s a reminder that whatever’s going on elsewhere, peace – or a measure of it, at least – is still possible, even in the middle of an intergalactic war that is creeping closer by the day. Besides, most of his adult life has revolved around moving from one military base to another, tours of duty that offered no certainties other than that they would end with a new assignment in a different field. The irony is that, though he now travels further than he ever did when he was stationed in Iraq, or Japan, or Germany, he can do it right from his own backyard. It’s glorious, he thinks, even if that backyard is lacking the one thing that Jack O’Neill would give up every trip across the universe for in a heartbeat to have back.

But dwelling on such impossibilities isn’t healthy, and being in the SGC – at any time – is a big help towards never disappearing down the black hole he’d teetered on the edge of following Charlie’s death. It doesn’t mean that his own brain doesn’t continue to do the processing-while-asleep thing, though. Which is why he’s here, now, ambling easily into the quiet control room at 4.30am on a Tuesday morning, two hours before he's due on duty. 

Siler and Simmons are at the controls, and it doesn’t take long for him to figure out that all is not well in the state of Colorado.

“No, that’s not it either,” says Siler, his forehead wrinkled in concentration beneath his glasses as he stares at a screen on which is scrolling gibberish strings of numbers. 

“Maybe we need to go back one,” Simmons suggests. “That last sequence, we could try inverting it.”

“Trouble, gentlemen?” Jack asks, hands in his pockets. He takes one out to wave them both back down as they start to stand to attention. 

“The dialling computer’s gone haywire, Colonel,” say Siler, frown still in place. 

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Ah, technical terms. My favourite.”

“It’s not selecting the chevrons in sequence the way it’s supposed to,” Siler explains. 

“You mean we keep dialling wrong numbers?”

Simmons nods. “Something like that, sir.”

“How long have you two been trying to fix this?”

Siler quirks his mouth in an uncomfortable grimace before he says, “Going on four hours, Colonel.”

Jack looks at his watch. SG-1 are due out to P4X-672 at 1000 hours, and there are at least three other teams rostered to move out before then. “Maybe it’s time to call Major Carter in, see what she can make of it, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

He goes to the phone on the wall and dials the switchboard. When the operator answers he requests an external line to Carter’s place. There’s a slight pause before the voice on the other end of the line comes back again.

_“Colonel, my records show that Major Carter is currently on base.”_

“She’s here?”

_“Yes, sir. Her ID hasn’t passed through security since 0600 Sunday, sir.”_

“Right.”

_“You still want me to connect you to her home, sir?”_

“No. Thank you.”

He puts the receiver down thinking, _For crying out loud, Carter, what will it take for you to get a life?_

“Major Carter’s on base,” he tells the two men. “Dollars to donuts she’s in her lab.” 

Simmons turns towards him. “Would you like me to go get her, sir?”

Jack eyes him: young, smooth-skinned and with a crush on Carter that must be visible from space. He’d ribbed her about it once – only gently, mind you, a little oblique reference that was only just touching the line. But he hasn’t forgotten how much he liked the tiny pained blush she couldn’t quite keep off her cheeks. So much, in fact, that he’d made a mental note never to risk seeing it again. “No, no. You keep at it. I’ll go.”

He leaves them to it, because even though he could just call her up via the base tannoy, he wants to see just what Carter’s working on that’s so important she hasn’t gone home in two nights straight. 

When he reaches the lab he’s so busy thinking of pithy comments about life outside Cheyenne Mountain and the necessity of decent sleep that for a moment he doesn’t register just how quiet it is within. When he does, he looks around, thinking for a moment that perhaps, contrary to his expectations, she has actually found herself a duty bunk to get some shut-eye before her shift begins. It’s only the second time his gaze sweeps over her desk, half obstructed from his view by various pieces of equipment and her computer terminal, that he realises Carter’s slumped across it. 

For a split second his heart freezes, and then the years of training kick in and he slides into automatic pilot. He takes two swift, sharp steps around the desk and is about to check her pulse when she moves slightly, murmurs something, and he realises that she’s just asleep. Carter’s crossed her arms on the desk, rested her cheek against them, and drifted off. 

It’s not the first time he’s seen her asleep and given how they spend most of their time it won’t be the last, so Jack doesn’t really understand why this, here, now, effects him in quite the way it does. He doesn’t pause to consider it, clamping down on that tiny inner earthquake so quickly that he can almost pretend he didn’t feel it at all. 

“Carter,” he says, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Come on, Major, wakey, wakey.” 

She doesn’t stir, and that surprises him, because he’s seen her go from zero to 60 out in the field, up and out of her bedroll with her P90 at the ready before the last letter of her name has fully left his lips. Here, though, she’s out for the count. He glances at her screen, wondering again what she’s been working on that could burn her out so completely, but the SGC screensaver is bouncing slowly around the darkened background. 

Jack grimaces to himself, looking around. He considers using one of the pens in the pot on the desk to poke her back to consciousness and decides against it. Another beat, a single breath and he leans forward, hands still in his pockets, to speak directly into her ear.

“Sam,” he says, softly. “Time to wake up.”

This time there’s a reaction. She hums, a slow, happy little murmur that unexpectedly thrums a chord deep in his chest. He leans back, quickly, as Carter’s lips curve into a lazy smile. She lifts her head, still smiling in a way he’s never seen before and will from now on spend a lot of time trying to forget. She opens her eyes and looks at him fuzzily, slightly unfocussed, still smiling that smile and all Jack can think is _Holy Mary Mother of God_. 

“Hey,” she says, her voice low and throaty from sleep, running one hand through her hair. A second later her eyes snap open as wide as he’s ever seen them, as if she’s suddenly realised where she is. “Sir! Colonel!”

Jack clears his throat. “Just one of those will do, Carter.”

“Yes, sir. Colonel.” There’s a flush rising from her chest, making its way up her neck to burnish her cheeks and it’s not helping him, at all, because it’s clear that she’s pretty damn flustered right now and if he’s not careful he’s going to spend a lot of time wondering why.

“You’re going to have a hell of a crick, Major,” he tells her. “We do have actual bunks in this facility, you know.”

She’s not looking at him. “Um, yes sir, I was just… I was running some simulations on the rate of decay in the naquada reactor, and I guess I lost track of time.”

Jack nods. “Well, you’re needed in the gateroom. There’s a situation. Siler and Simmons have been trying to sort it out, but they’re not getting anywhere, and if it doesn’t get resolved soon it’s going to start effecting mission schedules.”

“Right. Yes, sir. I’ll – I’ll be right there. Can you give me just a minute?”

“Sure. Don’t be long.”

“No, sir.”

Jack nods and leaves her to it. At the door he tries not to look back, but fails. Carter’s frozen in place, fingers against both cheeks, staring at her inactive screen, and not for the first time since he’s known her, Jack both wishes he knew just what was going through her head and is intensely grateful that he doesn’t know.

He turns away, his footsteps scuffing lightly against the concrete as he heads back to the gateroom. It’s not so quiet here any more, he thinks. There’s a sound he can hear, echoing over and over in his mind. 

It’s a sleepy little murmuring hum. 

[TBC]


	3. Chapter 3

He knows what he’s feeling. He’s felt it before – not often, it’s true, but enough to be sure. It’s strange, he thinks, that he can be so objective about it, so detached, despite what it means. There’s something liberating in accepting the inevitable, Jack realises, in just giving in. It’s not as if he hasn’t expected it. Something had to give. 

Arched above him, she’s outlined by the sun. In this moment, it glows around her like a halo, a perfect light glancing off her perfect skin. If he could have his way, this moment would last forever, or at least some semblance of it would: a snapshot, sealed in time, sent out into the black void they have spent so much time crossing together. It would survive long after his blood had soaked into the soil of this moon, long after his body has crumbled into dust. 

He’s dying. He can feel it. He’s felt it before, the heavy drag of desperate injury, the slowing of time, the loss of heat, the absence of sensation, of pain. He knows what it means. All he’s aware of is a slow, unhurried unspooling into unconsciousness as he fades out.

Her, too. He’s aware of her. 

He focuses on her face. She’s crouched beside him, and in between bursts of gun fire she’s shouting at him. He knows she’s shouting because when she looks at him her mouth is stretched wide around whatever words her lips are forming, but he can’t hear a thing. They say the hearing is the last to go, but that’s not so in Jack’s experience, at least not from a combat perspective. Although perhaps right now it’s just because time has slowed to an inexorable crawl. He can see each bullet in each spray she looses, careening one-by-one out into the brush on which they are pinned down. 

More light, brighter, a flashing glow that burns the horizon, and she ducks towards him, eyes screwed shut. He watches the creases that pass over her forehead beneath her dusty cap. They travel slowly, so slowly, like ripples in water. 

He feels his eyes getting heavy. He’s cold, so very cold, and growing colder by the second.

Carter opens her eyes, and she’s still shouting at him, and he still can’t hear a thing. Somewhere in the split second of that flash she’s discarded her weapon, and now she’s focused solely on him. 

_Sir_ , he reads on her lips. _Hold on. Hold on._

She’s doing something to his chest – he works that out because she keeps glancing down at his tac vest and her hands are fumbling there, but all he feels is the movement, nothing else. He wants to tell her to stop, that there’s no point, that all he wants is this last chance to look at her, just look at her face this one time without having to pretend he isn’t, but he can’t hear himself speak and anyway, she wouldn’t hear him, and anyway, there is no time. 

_Hold on_ , she’s screaming, _Sir, please, we'll get you out, just please hold on._

He’s almost gone now. He knows there’s barely any more left of him to unravel. He lifts his hand, weightless as smoke, towards her face. She’s still working on his chest when his fingers touch her cheek. She jerks her head up, lips parted, eyes wide, looking at him, just at him. 

_We have been to so many planets_ , he thinks. _But the most wonderful thing I ever saw on any of them walked out of the gate beside me._

He strokes his fingers along her jaw, and as he does he sees the moment that her desperation turns to grief. It’s a veil that draws down over her eyes, a shade that dims their brilliant blue. Abject and eloquent and all for him, it’s as clear as all the things he’s never said aloud, and he wants to tell her he’s sorry, but there’s not enough of him left to form the words.

_Sir_ , say her silent lips, whispering now. _No. Please, no. Don’t. Please. Jack._

His name on her lips is the last thing he sees. 

And then, nothing. 

***

When he comes around, he finds himself staring at the infirmary ceiling. There is a huge weight on his chest, as if someone has parked an 18-wheeler directly on his sternum. His head is thick, the blood in his veins slow. He knows drugs when he feels them. Breathing is slow and difficult, but he has the sense that he’s lucky to be taking air at all. His mouth is dry. He tries to move his head, but there are tubes up his nose. Still, he shuffles slightly, feeling pressure that would probably be pure pain were he not under the influence.

She’s scrunched into a chair beside his hospital bed. She’s pulled one knee up and has rested her forehead on it, arms wrapped around herself as if they can hold the rest of her together while she sleeps. To his eyes her hair holds the essence of that halo she’d picked up out there on wherever it was he died, and his heart has been drugged nine ways to Sunday but this glimpse of her flays it raw. He knows without having to be told that she’s been there a long time. Too long. Far too long.

There comes a smart click-click-clicking of heels and Fraiser appears at the end of his bed. 

“Colonel,” she says, softly. “It’s a relief to have you back with us, sir.”

Jack can’t drag his eyes away from Carter, because he knows that when he does he should find a way to never look at her again. He’d thought he was the only one in trouble, but he can remember the grief in her eyes when she thought he was gone and it’s not right, and sooner or later someone will gossip about how long she’s been sitting there and there won’t be a good enough answer to explain it away. She's brighter than any star in the universe and she can't go down because of this. He won't allow it.

Fraiser holds up a glass of water with a straw and he sucks at it, grateful but broken. He wants to fade out again. He wants to let the drug-fuelled darkness take him, suck him under and keep him there. He shuts his eyes and says the words he has to say.

“She can’t stay,” he says, voice hoarse. “She can’t.”

There’s a silence. He opens his eyes again, looks at Fraiser. The Doctor is looking back at him with sadness in her eyes but understanding on her face. 

“I’ll see to it, sir.”

He lets himself fade. 

[TBC]


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for an expletive in this one. Also a bit on the long side, sorry. Thanks to everyone reading and reviewing/doing the kudos thing, it means a lot.

It’s already dark, because he deliberately chose to arrive late as a way of shortening the evening. Jack doesn’t often come to this kind of thing, but Petersen and Frobie deserve this and he feels it’s only right he shows his face. Besides, SG-1 got back from P43-812 yesterday and the team isn’t scheduled to go off world again for another two weeks. There’s no real excuse for him not to be there. If he were in a more analytical frame of mind Jack might ask himself why he’d rather be at home alone with _The Simpsons_ , a beer and a hot dog instead of spending a Friday night celebrating at a bar with people most would consider his friends, but the closest he’ll come to answering that question is to blame it on his age. 

That’s not the real reason, though. 

It’s dangerous, this territory, and all the more so because already he knows what it will contain. 

The bar’s off the 115, a long, low shed with ample parking in a lot lit by a fizzing overhead sign that’s seen better days. When he pulls in he notes that many of the vehicles already there are ones he’s more used to seeing outside Cheyenne Mountain. It’s not until he’s out of his truck and crossing the lot towards the entrance that he sees what else is there: a sleek black form crouched low against the tarmac, wheel arches catching the cast white light in gleaming little highlights, the proud curlicue of its name arching over the gas tank. Despite his best intentions he can’t stop it, the wicked little spark low in his stomach at the realisation that Carter’s already here, and that she came on her bike. 

Yeah. Dangerous territory. 

It’s his own fault. At first, he’d shut everything down in the wake of that staff blast he’d taken out on 422. It had worked, too, for a time. They went on as they always had, pretending they were nothing more than colleagues, that neither of them had ever looked at the other and felt a spark, that they’d never wondered what if… 

But then they’d had to deal with the whole za’tarc debacle, with Anise and her damn Tok’ra lie detector machine. If he’d been smart, he would have ordered Carter out of the room while he was forced to bare his soul. Then again, if he’d been smart, he would have taken himself far, far away while she did the same. They might still know the substance of it, but hearing the words… that was something else. Something illicit and almost euphoric, but ultimately frustrating in its own way. 

The real kicker, though, the real reason he curses himself as an idiot, is that kiss he stole, the one she’ll never remember and that he’ll never, ever tell her about, back when time was a circle and he was going slowly insane. _Everything will go back to the way it was,_ Daniel had said. _No consequences._ And that was true, to an extent. No big consequences, no huge ramifications. But what Jack hadn’t taken into account was the smaller ones, the ones that woke him up night after night in a cold sweat as he remembered in dreams, over and over, how her body had felt as he’d held her against him, how it had felt to kiss her and feel her kiss him back, how she’d wrapped an arm around his neck to pull him closer, a little hum reverberating in her throat, as if the fact that Hammond was standing right there had completely slipped her mind in the heat of the moment and that perhaps, if… 

_Gah!_

Yeah. He’d been an idiot to imagine that one kiss would have no consequences, and now locking it all away again isn’t just difficult, it’s damn near impossible. 

Even from across the lot, he can tell that the evening’s well underway. Stargate Command may only take the best of the best, but that doesn’t mean to say the best don’t know how to let their hair down when the opportunity arises. Besides, there’s been a genuine sense of collective joy in the corridors of the SGC following the news filtering out that Cal and Jen had tied the knot. No fanfare, no engagement, no big wedding. They just picked a day when they were both on leave and got it done, and this impromptu hoe-down has happened mainly at the behest of their SGC colleagues. It’s probably a welcome reminder, Jack thinks, that even for the likes of them, even in the face of a raging war, happiness – a little touch of human normality - is still possible. He hopes it’ll be enough to get the two of them through the tough times, because it’s inevitable that there will be many to come. As it is Cal’s already had a couple of close calls with SG-11 and it’s only been six months since Jen and the rest of SG-18 were trapped off world for three weeks after a Jaffa ambush that cost them two team members. Every time either one of them goes out they have no way of knowing if they’ll ever see each other again. But, Jack supposes, that’s the whole point. No time like the present, seize the day, why put off until tomorrow, etcetera, etcetera. 

Inside, the place is crowded and noisy. The bar is in the centre of the room, a dropped floor with booths and other seating around the outside. Jack pauses on the entrance step, scanning the gathered crowd. Most are out of uniform, but there are a few personnel kitted out – either they’ve just got back from a mission or they’re stopping off to show their faces before shipping out. Jack spots Petersen in the middle of a group of SFs and heads over.

“Colonel!” Petersen exclaims, when he sees Jack coming. “Sir – it’s good of you to come.”

“Just wanted to offer my congratulations, Captain,” Jack says, as the two men shake hands. 

“Thank you, sir.” Petersen beams and Jack can remember that feeling, how often in the first few months of being married to Sarah he’d find himself grinning for no reason except that he was married to a woman he loved. “I feel very lucky.”

“You are very lucky,” Jack tells him. “Don’t ever forget it.”

“No sir, don’t intend to.”

“Where’s Frobie?”

Petersen points to the opposite side of the bar. “My wife’s over there,” he grins again. “Damn, it feels good to say that.”

Jack smiles as he follows Petersen’s look. Frobie’s leaning on the bar, sandwiched between Fraiser and Carter. The three women seem to be in the process of downing a shot of tequila each, egged on by several nearby airmen. 

“Okay,” Jack says, to Petersen. “I’ll catch up with her later. I’m going to get myself a drink. What’s your poison, Captain?”

Petersen names a beer and Jack makes his way to the bar, spotting Daniel and Teal’c deep in conversation in front of the taps. 

“Jack,” Daniel says. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show. Glad you did – Sam owes me ten bucks.”

He glances over at Carter, who is in the process of sucking the guts out of a quarter of lemon. “She bet against me, huh?”

“Guess she doesn’t know you as well as she thought she did.”

Jack smiles grimly and yells his order to the barman. Then he looks in Carter’s direction again and this time she’s looking back with an expression that’s entirely neutral and yet still screams trouble at him from twenty paces. She’s wearing a close-fitting scoop-neck red top, nothing fancy, but it’s clinging to all the curves he’s always tried to pretend she doesn’t have. She’s done something different with her make-up – her lips are darker and her eyes are smudged with smoke. She’s still licking the last of the lemon from her lips, there’s a high colour on her cheeks and even from this distance the blue of her eyes is piercing. She offers him a small smile and Jack feels his insides turn to liquid heat. Sam Carter could wear a muddy sack and she'd still be gorgeous, but tonight – and he’s aware the term is inappropriate, but it’s nowhere near the worst of what’s just flitted through his mind – she’s hotter than the fucking sun. And that’s without seeing the leather pants he’s guessing she wore for the sake of the bike. 

He nods hello at her, smiles, and then immediately turns his back, deciding two things: one, that the drink he’s just been handed is the only one he’ll have tonight until he’s safely back home and two, the current distance between them will not close. Not even an inch. 

Jack turns his attention back to Daniel. “Well,” he says, “I’m only here for one – I’m on my way somewhere. So hey - maybe she only owes you five.”

He delivers Petersen’s beer and talks a little with the younger man, congratulating Frobie when she appears beside them.

“Thank you, sir,” she says, happy and flushed, which might also have something to do with the tequila she’s just knocked back. Her husband wraps his arm around her, kisses her temple. 

Jack leaves them to it and mingles a little, chatting here and there. He has to make conscious effort not to look in Carter’s direction and he’s careful not to drift to that side of the bar. Maybe if he didn’t want to talk to her so damn much he could risk it, but as it is, right now it’s the only thing he wants on Earth so for sure it’s the one thing he can’t do. He nurses his beer for half an hour, half-listening to the conversations around him, and then heads back over to Daniel and Teal’c to tell them he’s on his way.

“What, already?” Daniel complains. “You’ve only just got here.”

“I told you, I’ve got somewhere to be,” Jack tells him. 

Daniel raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think I’ve ever known two people able to lie to themselves more successfully than you and Sam.”

Jack’s heart does a sick backflip in his chest and he has to stop himself looking around to see who else just heard what he did. “Excuse me?”

Daniel shakes his head, reaching for his beer again. “She’s gone too. Said she had work she needed to get on with.”

“Right. Well, she probably does. She’s got that new probe going out first thing next week, that survey she wants to do of P9C-372. Maybe she’s not happy with it yet.”

Daniel nods, swallows more beer and says, “That must be it, Jack.”

There’s something in his friend’s tone that doesn’t sit well, so Jack makes his goodbyes and departs. Technically, of course, since Carter’s gone there’s no reason he shouldn’t stay, but now he’s really not in the mood. He tips a nod to Petersen and Frobie, slaps a few shoulders and backs, and then he’s up the step and out of the door. 

Outside, the air is cool, the first taste of a Colorado winter drifting on a stiff night breeze that makes him glad of his battered leather bomber. Jack pauses to take a breath, scrubs a hand through his hair, and then makes for his truck. He’s gone no more than two paces when he sees something that stops him dead. 

Carter’s straddling her bike, motionless, her long legs stretched out to touch the rough concrete of the lot. She’s caught in the pool of light from the old fluorescent sign, bathed in stark white, all shadow and shade. Both hands hold her crash helmet in her lap, but she’s making no move to put it on. Instead her head is tipped back and she’s staring up at the stars beyond the artificial glare. She’s biting her lip in that way she does when she’s trying not to let something out, but it hasn’t stopped the tears he can see trailing down her cheeks. They catch the light, glinting sharply like miniature supernovas, and Jack swears he can feel them, all of them, every single one, detonating one after another beneath his ribs. She’s beautiful and she’s alone and he knows without a doubt that she’s leaving the party early for exactly the same reason he is and there’s not a damn thing he can do to make it better for her. For either of them. He can’t even tell her that he knows. 

He stands there, motionless, wondering what to do, but a second later the quandary is taken out of his hands because she jerks her face around, eyes wide, and sees him. There’s a split second of silence and then:

“Colonel,” she says, turning her head and swiping hurriedly at her face. 

“Major.”

She nods sharply, once, looking down at her helmet as she bites her lip again. There’s another silence and he can’t move, because if he does he might not be able to stop himself walking until he’s right there with her, inside that white pool of light. 

Carter wipes her face again. “God, this is stupid,” she says. “I’m happy for them. I am.”

“We all are.”

“It’s just…”

She trails off and he should leave the rest of that sentence to silence, but what Jack hears come out of his mouth is, “It’s just what, Sam?”

She makes a sound in her throat and it’s not that far away from the sound she made when he kissed her in that speck of time that she’ll never remember, and it’s almost enough to make him lose it. 

“Is that all it takes?” she asks, her voice not much more than a mutter, though it carries to him across the empty lot as if she had whispered it into his ear. “Different teams?”

He knows what she means and despite himself his heart flutters at the inference. Petersen and Frobie met on SG-15, but once they’d told their commanding officer about their desire for a relationship they’d both been transferred. Jack knows the whole story, because Hammond had asked his opinion about what to do. Barrel of laughs _that_ meeting had been, given Hammond’s knowledge of the za’tarc incident. 

He’s trying to work out how to answer, because it’s not that simple. They aren’t Petersen and Frobie, who are both Captains, and SG-1 isn’t SG-15. “I do know this, Carter. You are irreplaceable to SG-1.”

She throws him a look that’s more fire than pain and then she says, “Wish I had that special ops way of switching it all off, just like that.”

They stare at each other and he’s this close to showing her just how badly he’s failed to switch ‘it’ off, this close to striding the twenty paces between them and running his hands up the leather on her thighs, this close to lifting her clean off that bike and hiking her up against the nearest wall so he can press his lips against her neck and then lower, lower, until his teeth are tearing at that top. Maybe he would have done it, too, if not for the door behind him opening when it did. 

She flips the helmet over her head and does it up with one swift movement. A second later she’s kicked the bike into life and she’s gone. 

He thinks about going after her but knows even as he’s thinking it that he won’t. He already knows that by tomorrow morning she’ll want to forget everything that happened on this particular battlefield and God knows it’ll be better for them both if they do. Besides, better that she continues to think that the stone she can see on the surface is rock all the way down. Jack’s relieved, really, that he’s managed to maintain it. He thought his façade was as transparent as glass. 

He rubs a hand over his face and heads for his truck. _I’ve got to squash this,_ he thinks. _I can’t let myself love her. I can’t._

He’s lying to himself again, of course. He knows it's already too late.

[TBC]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all remember what happened when they opened a gate to P9C-372, right?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the update delay. Tough, busy week.

The advent of Pete Shanahan doesn’t hit Jack as hard as he thought it might. 

He can’t lie and say that he’s _happy_ about it, but truth be told, he’s been waiting for something of the sort to happen. Even by the standards of their lives, the past few months have been particularly tough. They’ve all been through a lot, and they’ve been putting their lives on hold for years now. Time passes so quickly – the blink of an eye and suddenly you’re looking back at your younger self from a distance that seems impossible, wondering what happened to the life you thought you were going to have. None of them are getting younger, his fractious knees constantly remind him of that. And Carter… she deserves more, no question, more than just a life spent trudging through mud and sleeping in tents without even the comfort of knowing that she’ll be going home to someone who’s missing her. He thinks she probably wants it, too, even if it’s not an entirely conscious desire. It’s not that Jack’s spent much time considering it, but he’s seen how she is with Cassie and how she’s stepped up ever since that terrible mission where Janet Fraiser didn’t make it home. She can strip down a P90 in thirty seconds, she can blow up a star, she can lead a full-on assault behind enemy lines on a world at the other end of the galaxy, but it’s not hard to imagine her with a family. She wouldn’t struggle to find her softer side, to open that part of her heart. 

Besides, Jack gets the sense that there was a turning point for her a little while back. Something subtle changed, at least for her. He thinks it happened during those four days she spent trapped aboard the _Prometheus,_ , spinning out to a lonely death among the stars. Those days had been terrible for him: the waiting, the fruitless searches, the not being able to do anything. He knows that the seven years of pretence he’d put up that Sam Carter is just another soldier to him were dismantled once and for all in the course of the 96 hours that she was lost. She’d told him herself that it had felt as if she’d been out there for weeks. Weeks on your own, staring death in the face, far away from home. A lot of time to think, to contemplate. He knows first hand what that’s like, the perspective it lends. It’s brutal, the revelation of one’s own mortality, of the constantly ticking clock that’s on every life. 

And the next thing he knew, she was humming, and there was Pete Shanahan. 

Both Daniel and Teal’c have asked if he’s OK about it – one tactfully, one less so. He’s shrugged it off, unwilling to probe himself too deeply lest he discover he isn’t doing as well as he thinks. But he’s spent years telling her she needs to get a life outside of her lab. How could he possibly begrudge the fact that she’s actually done it? Sure, if things were different, then he’d have hoped for a different outcome to their story. But things aren’t different, and these are the cards they hold. Changing them would mean giving up more than either of them would ask of the other – an abandonment of a duty that each lives their life by. All that is left to do is play the cards they’ve been dealt as best they can, the same as they have for the past seven years. He can’t resent her for that. Contrary to popular romantic opinion, love does not conquer all. After all, if it did, he’d never have gone to Abydos in the first place. He’d never have even met Sam Carter. 

In some ways, it’s made things easier between them. He’s spent so long locking everything down where Carter is concerned, shutting off anything that even hints at straying close to a line he can’t cross, but now a question mark has been removed, a possibility extinguished. He’s always been better at dealing with what’s physically in front of him rather than theories, with the tangible rather than the… well, the _in_ tangible. At least now there’s something real for him to confront, to deal with. Sam Carter is in a relationship with someone else. Presented with that reality, Jack finds himself relaxing a little. 

Take right now, for example. It’s late. Since SG-1 gated to this planet twelve hours ago they’ve trekked through some pretty harsh terrain, which included working out how to ford a very fast-flowing river. They’ve got another ten clicks to go before they reach the ruins that the Tok’ra have suggested, in their annoyingly cryptic way, might be of benefit to Earth. They’ve pitched camp in the lee of a cliff face, four small one-person tents in a semi-circle under the stars. Carter’s taken first watch, to be followed by Teal’c, then Daniel, then Jack himself, because he lost that bet about whether or not Daniel was going to dump himself in the river (he didn’t) and the forfeit is that he has to get the first pot of coffee on. By rights he should be flat out asleep out in his tent right now, the way Daniel and Teal’c already are. But instead here he is, still sitting beside the campfire talking to Carter. 

“…and I’ve got a theory that the key to controlling the intake is the way the generator handles the rate of decay in the refined naquada, but at the moment’s it’s just that, a theory-“ he watches as she gestures, blowing out her cheeks in that way she does when something fundamental is eluding her, “and until I can solve that, I’m stuck at this impasse.”

“You’ll work it out, Carter. You always do.”

“Thank you, sir.” She smiles at him, and it’s bright and warm and genuine, as if his faith in her means a lot. She’s just been trying to explain something that she knows he’s never going to properly grasp but it never stops her trying, and all the while she’s had a smudge of mud across her left cheek that is far more endearing than it has any right to be. The light from the fire glows against her face, and as dirty and tired and bundled up in her gear as she is, she is extraordinary. Despite himself, Jack can’t help but feel a very slight pleasure – okay, if he’s honest with himself, it’s more than slight – that whatever happens with Pete Shanahan, the man will never have a moment with Carter that’s quite like this. 

She looks down into her mug. “Is there any more coffee?”

Jack reaches for the canister and holds it out. “A little. Tired?”

“Not badly, just don’t want it to go to waste.” Carter pours herself a mug and then offers it back to him. He contemplates not taking it for about a flat second, and then tips the last of the brew into his own mug. When he looks up she’s smiling at him again, but there’s a question in her eyes. After all, he should have turned in an hour ago.

“Just enjoying the company, Major,” he says, quietly, putting down the empty canister and leaning his elbows on his knees. 

Her smile widens at that. “Thank you, sir. So am I.”

Jack nods, takes a mouthful of coffee and swallows it before adding, “And to be honest it’s nice to be on a planet where no one’s trying to kill us for a change.” He realises what he’s said the second it’s out of his mouth, and winces as Carter’s face takes on a shadow. “Sorry. That was thoughtless. I didn’t-“

“It’s OK, sir,” she says, but it’s not. They’ve all been grieving Janet’s loss, but she was one of Carter’s closest friends and he knows how hard her death has hit. 

“How’s Cassie?”

Sam clutches her mug with both hands and shrugs a little. “She’s up and down. Poor kid. She’s had to go through so much.”

“She’s lucky she’s got you.”

Carter smiles at him. “And you, sir. She said you’d been keeping in close touch. She might not say it, but it means a lot to her. She loves you, Colonel.”

He makes a face and looks into the fire. “And there I thought she was growing up to be a smart one.”

Sam laughs softly but doesn’t answer that, and when he looks at her again she’s frowning a little.

“What’s up?”

She half shakes her head and screws up her face, as if she’s unsure she should say what she’s thinking. 

“Come on, Carter,” he says, softly. “This is me, here.”

Sam bites her lip and then says, “Pete doesn’t really understand about Cassie. He’s trying, but… I can’t really explain it to him, not properly, not without breaching security. I mean, he knows about the SGC, he knows what I do, but I still can’t tell him everything. And I know he doesn’t really get why I feel as responsible for her as I do. We don’t get that much time together as it is, and at the moment… When I’m home I just want to be there for her as much as possible, you know?”

Jack nods. “I can see why he’d find it tough, Carter. Not just the Cassie thing, all of it. It’s always hard for the ones left at home, waiting. But if he has any sense, he’ll work through it. However tough he’s finding it, he must already know you’re worth whatever it takes.”

Carter goes still, fingers still wrapped around the mug as she stares into the flames at their feet. An emotion flits across her face, something sad and powerful and deeper even than grief, and he can’t quite identify it but it makes him feel as if his insides have been stuck in a centrifuge. 

“Although I have to say,” he says, snapping over to humour, instantly trying to head for safer ground, “if he saw you right now he might think twice. C’mere, Carter-“ Jack licks his thumb and reaches out, catching her jaw and smoothing his thumb over the streak of mud he’s been eyeing all evening. Carter gasps a little and stares at him, wide eyes catching the light from the flames, lips parting in surprise as she pulls in the breath. He’s never reached for her like that, Jack realises, not on a mission, not for a non-tactical reason. 

He drops his hand, wondering what the hell he was thinking, sitting here with her like this, talking to her like this, as if he isn’t still as crazy in love with her as he has been since he first fell and realised he was never getting up. As if a hundred Pete Shanahans could ever – will ever - change that, as if he hasn’t just done the unthinkable and as good as told her that outright.

He clears his throat and slugs the last of the tepid coffee. “I’d better get some sleep. There’ll be fresh coffee waiting when you get up, Major.”

“Yes sir,” she says. 

Jack dumps his mug on the ground and stands up, heading for his tent. He ducks inside and takes off his boots, trying not to look in her direction. He manages it until he’s zipping up the tent. The last glimpse of her he sees, she’s still staring into the fire, still holding her mug. But one hand is touching her cheek, the cheek that he’d rubbed his thumb against, and that’s enough to send that centrifuge spinning once again.

He gets into his sleeping bag and clicks off his light. Then Jack lies there, staring up into the dark, and he knows there’s no chance he’s going to sleep. 

_Maybe it’s time to chuck in this hand and ask for a new deck,_ he thinks. _Hell, don’t they owe me that? I could retire. All the time that Hammond’s in charge, the SGC can carry on without me. If there’s still a chance that she-_

He stops himself on that note. They’re off world, on a mission. If there is ever a time to think about this, now is most definitely not it. But when he’s back, he promises himself, he’s going to think about it. He’s going to think about it very, very seriously. 

There’ll be time before they ship out on their next assignment to P3X-439.

[TBC]


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's read, left kind notes and kudos - I really appreciate it. This is probably far longer than it should be but I had to get it down and done, as work has just hit the fan and FF time has run out. Really hope you like this conclusion.

His desk is almost packed, although in truth Jack’s never really considered it to be ‘his’. He always felt as if he was just holding it until Hammond got back, and it still doesn’t feel right that he never did. Jack misses Hammond, who is to this day the best commanding officer he ever served under, and the example after which Jack models his own command. As a result, leaving this office isn’t nearly as difficult as it could be. It isn’t going to be anywhere close to as tough as it was for him to leave SG-1, for example. As for leaving the SGC… that’s going to be hard, although it’s not as if he can’t ever come back and visit. And who knows, maybe there will be other advantages. 

There’s a knock at the door and he calls for whomever it is to enter, wondering if it’ll be the last time he does that. There’s barely three hours until his last duty shift ends, so probably not, but still. It’s coming. It’s a weird thought. Jack feels slightly unmoored. This place has been his entire life for eight years. The idea that as of next week he’ll be spending most of his days in the Pentagon, instead… It doesn’t really compute. 

Carter sticks her head around the door, sees him standing behind his desk with his hands in his pockets, and grins. “Got a second, sir?”

He waves her in. “For you, Carter, I can spare a whole minute.”

She comes in and pushes the door shut behind her. Her eyes are warm, and he has the distinct impression that she can see right through him. “All packed, sir?”

He follows her gaze to the single cardboard box on his desk. He’d never had a desk before, and had had no idea what to put on it, so subsequently there was little that wasn’t staying right where it was. “Oh yeah. It was a mission, but I persevered.”

She looses a grin that could rival the death of a star. “Well, sir, I don’t want to hold you up, but some of us were wondering if you’d like to mark the occasion with a few drinks later? I know you kind of wanted to sidle out unnoticed, but… no one seems to think we can let that happen, General.”

He narrows his eyes. “I do not _sidle_ , Carter.”

“No, sir.”

“I never sidle.”

“Of course not, sir, I do apologise.”

“I just… don’t do goodbyes, that’s all.”

She nods, and for a second her smile dims and she glances at his chest rather than his face. “I can understand that, sir. But, General – maybe you don’t realise quite how much you mean to everyone here. The troops would really appreciate a chance to show you how much you’re going to be missed, sir.”

He waits until she looks him in the eye again. He wonders how he’s going to deal with not seeing her face every day, and already knows he’s going to miss it as much as he misses sunlight after a shift spent down here below the mountain.

“All right, Carter.”

Her face brightens. “You’ll come?”

He smiles a little. “Sure. I have to dispel this whole ‘sidling’ thing, right?”

Carter grins again and Jack tries to take a snapshot of her with his mind, something indelible he can take with him with impunity. “That’s great, sir. Thank you. O’Malley’s OK? Say about 20 hundred?

He raises his eyebrows. “O’Malley’s?”

She shrugs a little. “For old time’s sake, sir.”

“Old times, huh?” His voice has softened even more than he intended, and he sees the warmth in her eyes ratchet up a notch at his tone. “We had some good ones, didn’t we, Colonel?”

“Yes sir,” she says, quietly. “Some of the best.”

He nods. “I’ll be there, Carter.”

She returns his nod and turns to leave. She’s at the door when he calls her back again. 

“Carter?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Tomorrow night, think you can make it to that bar on 115 we’ve been to a few times?”

She looks surprised for a second, a little puzzled. “You – want to move this goodbye thing to tomorrow, sir?”

He holds her gaze, because he doesn’t do sidling. He’s more the type to lob a grenade behind him as he leaves, and _she’s not marrying Pete Shanahan_ and he’s going to Washington, and it’s not a retirement but if there wasn’t at least the possibility of an advantage to him leaving the SGC then really, why would he ever have agreed to take the job?

“No. I’m asking you to meet me for a drink. Tomorrow,” he pauses, tapping his fingers on the desk next to him. “When this is no longer my office. When I am no longer stationed at Stargate Command.”

She blinks once and he sees the precise moment that the realisation hits her as to what, exactly, he’s asking. Carter stares at him, eyes wider than he’s ever seen them, and he thinks she’s going to say no, that she can’t, that she’d better not, that-

“I’d like that,” she says, with such quiet intensity that his mended-more-times-than-he-can-count heart actually skips a beat. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Okay,” he says, and Jack hadn’t realised how afraid he was that she would say no until she’d said yes. “Good.”

She blinks again, and he can see a faint flush rising up her neck, which puts him in mind of other times he’s seen her blush and how much he’s always loved it, and that how, in three hours’ time, whatever happens, he’ll be damned if he’ll censor himself from thinking about such things ever again. 

***

The place hasn’t changed much since the last time he was here. The sign outside is still on the verge of giving up the ghost. Inside, the bar’s still an island in the middle of the dropped floor, there are still booths still running around the outside. Jack orders a beer and picks a booth about half way down, sitting so that he can see the door. Carter – Sam, he reminds himself – isn’t here yet, and he tries not to check his watch. She’s not the sort to stand a guy up, he tells himself. If she’d changed her mind, she would have straight-up told him, not left him here alone to figure it out.

It’s been a strange kind of day, the first in almost a decade where he woke up at home and didn’t have to think about what was happening at Cheyenne Mountain. Not that he doesn’t have a lot to do – Jack’s decided to rent out his house in the Springs, so packing is the current priority. Not to mention the whole thing of finding somewhere to live in DC. And obviously, just because he didn’t have to think about what was happening at the SGC didn’t prevent him thinking about what might be happening at the SGC. He suspects he’ll spend a lot of time doing that, at least at first. 

And, of course, there’s Carter, or more importantly the fact that he woke up this morning knowing that tonight the two of them were going on an honest to god date. Yeah, like he was going to be able to think about anything else with that on the horizon. The goodbye drinks at O’Malley’s had been a particular type of torture. If she hadn’t persuaded him to go along with it, he would have asked her to do this last night. No time like the present, why put off until tomorrow, yadda, yadda. As it was, Jack had spent all evening at a social event in her company, no longer directly her commanding officer but surrounded by exactly the sort of people around which he could do nothing but behave as her direct commanding officer. 

It isn’t that he’s expecting something seismic to happen between them immediately, or even at all. Maybe it’s too late for all that, maybe they’ve meant too many different things to each other over the years to even try that tack, and even if not then maybe it’ll still be too much of a risk for her to contemplate. 

All Jack O’Neill wants is to have a drink with Sam Carter. It’s that simple. Just a _drink_ , between two people who are just two people, with nothing else beyond their names attached. After eight years, he figures they’re owed that much, at least. 

Then the door opens and there she is, standing on the step that leads down to the bar, and a feeling flares in his chest so quickly and is of such magnitude that when it fades he feels lightheaded. He’s still trying to recover from it when she picks him out and smiles slightly. Jack stands as she jogs down the step and strides towards him, direct, confident. She’s carrying a crash helmet and is dressed in black leather pants and a leather jacket, which she unzips as she reaches him. 

“Hi,” she says, with a smile, resting the helmet on the table and running a hand through her mussed blonde hair and _My God_ , Jack thinks, helplessly, _How could I possibly ever stop loving this woman?_

“Hey,” he drawls. “Came on the bike, huh?”

“Yeah. Haven’t had a chance to take her out for a while.”

He nods. “The 115’s a good run.”

She smiles again. “It is. I’ll just grab a drink and-“

“My round,” he says. “What are you having?”

Carter names a beer and he heads for the bar. By the time he gets back she’s taken off the jacket. Under it she’s wearing a thin teal-coloured sweater that perfectly matches the colour of her eyes. It’s made of something that looks so soft Jack has to stop himself reaching out to run his fingers down her arm. He puts down her glass and slides back into his seat, aware that his control over the evening is already in tatters because she’s been here barely two seconds and what he really wants to do is ask her to come back to his place and never, ever leave. 

“Cheers,” she says, raising her beer and then looking at him over it as she takes a mouthful. 

“Cheers,” he says.

Carter puts her glass down and frames it with both hands. “So…”

He raises one eyebrow. “So?”

She laughs a little. It’s playful, a little giddy, even, maybe. “So what are we doing here, sir?”

He grins back, catching her mood. “Hanging out?”

“Yeah?”

Jack’s still smiling as he looks down at his the surface of his drink before looking back up at her again. “Look at it this way, Carter. Goodbye I don’t do. But Hello… Hello I can get behind.”

The look in her eyes takes on a serious edge, and he can see she gets it. “Okay,” she says, softly. 

“All right then,” he says. “Hello, Sam. My name is Jack.”

He hears the sharp little breath she pulls in, and then: “Hello… _Jack_. It’s nice to meet you. At last.”

They look at each other and he knows, just like that, that they’re going to be okay. 

They stay there until the bar closes, ordering burgers, monitoring their beer intake, laughing and joking and arguing about everything they can think of that has nothing to do with the fate of the world. They’re just two people learning each other anew, trying to separate everything they know from everything they don’t, trying to navigate around the weight of a history that has bound them so closely together while necessarily holding them apart. They both slip up a few times – she can’t stop calling him ‘sir’, and ‘Carter’ comes far more naturally to him than ‘Sam’. 

“It’s okay,” he tells her after her latest apology. “One step at a time, right? At least… I’m hoping I’m not the only one who’s had enough fun to want to hang out again?”

Sam flicks her gaze over him, slowly, before meeting his eyes, and there’s a sudden flare of heat there that makes him catch his breath. She only holds his gaze for a second before dropping hers back to her drink. Her glass is nearly empty, and they’re past last orders. The evening is coming to an end. 

“It has been fun,” she says, softly. 

Something twists in his gut. “Do I sense a silent ‘but’ there at the end of that statement?”

Sam sighs. “There’s still a chain of command, Jack. You’re still a rank above me.”

“I know.”

“And all the while I’m leading SG-1 – I’m going to be away. A lot.”

“I know that, too.”

She tilts her head, eyes searching his, and even now, even after eight years, she takes his breath away. “I don’t want to say goodbye either. Even if I wanted to, I know I can’t. I’ve tried. But-“ Sam shakes her head, breaks off. 

Jack reaches out and strokes his hand over hers where it rests on the table. She turns her hand over and their fingers play together, tangling, untangling, tentative, wonderful.

“We’ve given everything,” he says. “Over and over and over. We’ve put everything else first. And the Goa’uld are gone. We did that. We did.”

She squeezes his hand. “So – what? You think we’re owed this? You think that’s how the Air Force will see it?”

“Well, I’m sure owed something, Sam, because believe me, Homeworld Security was not my first choice.”

“What was your first choice?”

“Retirement.”

Her eyes widen a little at that. “You asked for it?”

“I did. They didn’t want to grant it. And I told them the only way they’d get me to stay is if I got one thing. Just one. The only thing I want. The only thing I’ve wanted for a long, long time.”

She stares at their entwined fingers and goes very, very still. “This?” she whispers. “Me?”

Jack reaches out with his other hand and touches her face, tipping her chin up so that she’s looking at him again. “I’m not asking for certainties, Sam. I just want you to know that this… it’s not as impossible as it was yesterday. We can hang out. We can get a drink together without it… being goodbye.”

Her eyes fill with tears and she looks away, biting her lip. “I didn’t… After everything, I wasn’t even sure you still felt anything for me.”

He smiles grimly. “What was it you called it once? ‘That special ops way of shutting it all down’. I never really managed it. Not where you were concerned.”

She sighs and wipes her hand over her face. “We’d better go. They’re trying to close up.”

Outside, her bike is standing beside his truck in the same pool of white light as it had four years previously, and Sam’s obviously thinking the same thing, because once she’s dumped her jacket and her helmet on the seat she says, “Remember the last time we were both here?”

Jack slides his hands into his pockets. “Oh yeah. I remember not being able to look at you in case someone saw my tongue hanging out of my mouth.”

She gapes at him, astonished. “What? But you didn’t talk to me all night, apart from three lines out here that made me think I was _this_ close to a disciplinary.”

“If I had, I might have been the one _actually_ up for a disciplinary.” He looks her over and raises an eyebrow. “Not to put too fine a point on it, and at the risk of being wildly inappropriate, you in leathers and a close-fitting top has a pretty direct line to a very specific part of me.”

It’s too dark to see, but he’s pretty sure she’s blushing because her voice is gruff when she says, “I’m not sure I’m ready for all this straight Jack O’Neill talk.”

He frowns. “Sorry.”

“No-“ she swings back towards him. “I like it.”

“Yeah?”

Sam’s fiddling with her bike key, not looking at him. She’s silent for a long time, and when she speaks her voice is low, deliberate, as if she’s making herself admit something she’s tried to hide, even from herself. 

“I wanted you so much that night,” she says. “I remember staring at you from the other side of the bar, just willing you to do something, say something, to want me the way I wanted you. But you just… didn’t.”

For a minute he’s speechless, and when he does find his voice, it’s low and rough, even to his own ears. “I couldn’t, Sam. You know that.”

She nods. “But you hid it so well I didn’t think it was there at all. I went home that night feeling like the biggest fool in the world, Jack.”

“You want to know what I wanted to do that night?” he asks, roughly, pulling his hands out of his pockets, bunching them into fists at his sides. “You _really_ want to know?”

He crosses the space between them so quickly it takes her utterly by surprise. Jack puts his hands to Sam’s hips and pushes her up against the door of his truck, just hard enough to hold her there. He cuts her gasp off with a kiss he first thought of four years ago and has never stopped thinking of since. She makes the same sound in her throat that he remembers from all those years ago, and then she’s kissing him back, hands gripping at his shoulders, dragging him closer, fingers threading through his hair. This isn’t what he meant to do tonight, but suddenly anything else feels like wasting time and God knows they’ve already lost enough. He moves his lips to her neck and feels as well as hears her moan as she tips her head back. He slips his hands under her sweater and feels the muscles of her stomach ripple under his fingers as she gasps again. 

“Jack,” she says, voice fractured, breathless, finding his cheeks with her hands and pulling him back up to face her. “ _Jack_. Take me home. Please, just take me home.” He freezes for a second, looking at her, wondering if he’s gone too far, if he’s misunderstood and made a terrible mistake. Then she kisses him again, mouth open and hot, eyes smouldering, and whispers, “Your place is closer. We can get the bike tomorrow.”

***

Jack watches the dawn rise through his window with his arm around a sleeping Sam Carter. She’s got one arm draped over his stomach, her face against his chest. He’s dozed on and off since she succumbed to sleep, but he’s propped up against the headboard and hasn’t wanted to move her. It’s been too long coming, this night, it’s been too close to never happening at all. He wants to remember how it feels to have her sleep against him the first time, how it feels to hear her breathing so close to him, to have her skin lying flush against his. 

Unfortunately, though, he really, really needs the bathroom. Jack looks down at her, then strokes a finger over her cheek and whispers in her ear. 

“Sam,” he says, softly. “Time to wake up.”

She shifts against him, screwing her eyes tighter, and then she hums, a slow, happy sound deep in her throat. Her eyes still shut, Sam smiles, pressing her face further into his chest, and then she opens her eyes and looks up at him.

“Hey,” she says, throatily.

He smiles, losing all desire to leave the bed. Like, ever. “Hey.”

“I’m not dreaming, am I?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Have a lot of dreams about me, do you, Colonel?”

She snickers, pressing her face against his chest again. Jack shifts a little, sliding down the bed until they’re face to face. He brushes a hand through her hair, down her neck, down the naked filigree of her spine, and Sam sighs, a breath of happiness. 

“I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, kissing her bare shoulder gently before he slides out of bed. 

When he comes back, she’s sitting up, his duvet wrapped across her chest, watching the same sunrise. He gets back into bed and pulls her against him. 

“Okay?” Jack asks, because although he doesn’t get the sense that either of them think they’ve made the wrong decision, he knows there’s a lot more they need to unpack. 

“Hmm,” she murmurs. “You?”

“I feel,” he says, pressing his lips against her forehead, “as if the world is more right now than it has been for ten years.”

There’s a sliver of silence, and she’s got a look on her face that tells him she’s contemplating something, so he waits her out. 

“Jack,” she says, eventually. “There’s something I need to explain.”

“Oh?”

“About… what happened with Pete.”

He takes a breath, clears his throat. “No.”

“But I feel as if-“

“Sam,” he says, gently. “You don’t need to explain. Not about Pete. Not about anything. You don’t owe me anything, you never did.”

She frowns, tracing her fingers up and down his arm, and it feels so good to have her touch him that he pulls her closer still. She’s still thinking, he can tell, and there’s something he needs to tell her that he thinks will set her mind at rest if only he can find the right way to say it. 

“Listen,” he says. “I need you to understand something very important.”

Sam looks up at him, her eyes serious. Jack takes a breath and thinks for a moment, trying to frame the words. 

“After Charlie died,” he begins, and he feels her arms tighten around him, their warmth as soothing as the rising sun. “After Charlie died, I never thought there would be anything beautiful in my life ever again. And then there was you.” He watches her eyes widen and then fill with tears that run down her face even as he wipes them away. “And Sam, even if this-“ he gestured between them, “even if this had never happened, even if we had only stayed friends, even if you’d married Pete Shanahan and had a dozen children, you would still be the best thing that has happened to me in a very, very long time.”

Sam pulls out of his arms, but only so she can lift herself up to his level. She cups his face in both hands and looks down at him, and in a straight contest the sunrise doesn’t even get a showing. 

“Did you leave the SGC for me?” she asks, quietly. “For this?”

“Yeah,” he says, simply. “Not that I expected anything, per say, but… I wanted the chance. Just the chance.”

She bites her lip and shakes her head. “You love Stargate Command.”

“I do,” he admits. “But – and I know this might be too soon, but in other ways it’s about five years too late – I love you more, Sam. I always will.”

She stares at him, eyes full of an emotion he doesn’t want to name in case he’s wrong. 

“There’s a research position going at Area 51,” she says. “I’m going to take it.”

He shifts a little. “You’re going to give up SG-1?”

“Yes,” she says. “I am. We’ll see each other more regularly if I’m Nevada than if I’m leading the team.”

“Sam… if you think you need to do this because of us, because of this - you don’t. You really don’t. I’d never ask you to do that.”

“I know you wouldn't,” she says. “And I’ll miss it. But I love you, Jack,” she says, quietly. “So much. We saw the stars together. We beat the Goa’uld together. And now _you’re_ what I want.”

He reaches up to touch her face, his heart too full for words. Sam Carter smiles down at him. She’s the most beautiful thing in his life, and he knows, without a doubt, that if he had to wait another eight years for her, he would. 

“Tired?” he asks her, softly.

She raises an eyebrow, her grin turning so saucy that he feels his insides tighten. “Not even slightly, _sir_.”

He grins. “Right answer, Colonel.”

He flips her over, rolling her under him in one move that leaves her gasping with surprised laughter. 

Outside the sun continues to rise. It’s beautiful, but for him right then, it’s not even worth a look. 

[END]


End file.
